


Just One Look and I Can Hear a Bell Ring

by elfiepike



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aprons, M/M, Maids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfiepike/pseuds/elfiepike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aiba calls a cleaning service, with sexy results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Look and I Can Hear a Bell Ring

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to ltgmars for beta-reading!! for my rainbowfilling square, "how they do the domestics." sammy is, of course, an alter-ego of ohno's.

Aiba had called the Totally Clandestine Cleaners on a whim after seeing their ad in an adult magazine he favored. He was impressed and confused by their menu system at first: it took him three tries to get past the first question ("Hello, master or mistress - how can we service you today?" followed by more choices than Aiba had numbers on his phone. He managed to get into the Chinese menu twice, somehow) and then another four tries to figure out what it was he actually wanted in the first place.

Dial six for housecleaning, then three for maid services (they weren't the same thing, apparently), then three again for naked cleaning services ("Because we know our masters and/or mistresses need their servants to be just as spotless as their floors, we'll prove with our bodies just how clean we are~"), then two for men and an entirely new menu of choices of servants - at that point Aiba got excited and just hit buttons until it asked him for his credit card. He almost didn't care who came - he was sure whoever it was they would be cute! It was an experiment if nothing else and Aiba was sure it would be fun.

When the day came, he was still anxiously tidying his apartment up. He had wondered at first if he should (they were a cleaning service, after all, even if they were a _sexy_ one) but the idea that his maid would have to bend over more to search for dust in all the hard-to-reach places had Aiba frantically straightening out his bookshelves and making sure his laundry was in the hamper. He even did the dishes - that's how dedicated he was.

The hour arrived. Aiba couldn't figure out what he was supposed to wear so he settled on jeans and a t-shirt, figuring if the whole point was that he was going to watch them clean his house he could just be comfortable in whatever, but also with the vague desire to impress them or at least not look awful. His kinks lent themselves more towards everyone having fun and less towards slovenliness or outright humiliation (most of the time, anyway).

He'd just turned on the TV, trying to keep his mind off the time, when the doorbell rang.

If he practically skipped to the door, there was no one there to see him.

The man on the other side when he opened it was _definitely_ cute. Aiba's heart sang a little happy trill of excitement at the incredible adorableness of the maid's soft, round cheeks, and how slim his hips were under the blue coveralls.

His name was stitched onto a patch on the front: SAMMY.

"I'm here from Clandestine Cleaners," Sammy said, glancing up at Aiba through his lashes in what seemed honestly to be an unpracticed move before bowing shortly at the waist. He had a duffel bag with him, plain black, and his hands were veiny where they gripped it.

 _Cuuuuute_ , Aiba thought, taking in the baby-bird spikes curling up off of Sammy's forehead that stayed firmly in place when Sammy tilted his head. _Super cute! Good choice, Masaki!_ "Come in, come in," he said out loud, trying to calm himself, to not seem _too_ outrageously interested.

Well, a little interested was okay, he was sure. After all, he wasn't paying Sammy to be here just to clean his _house_.

-

Sammy went to the bedroom to get changed and shut the door behind him, which Aiba found slightly disappointing. He'd been hoping to see the transformation, the unveiling - wasn't that half the fun?

He watched TV for a few minutes, getting caught up in a daytime show about dolphin habitats; he could probably use that for his next segment -

"Master," Sammy said from the hallway. His voice was soft and deferential, not quite how he'd been when Aiba had first answered the door.

Aiba looked over and felt his jaw drop. He was pretty sure that somewhere in the seven or eight (or ten, or twenty) menus, he'd hit on the _naked_ option, but he must not have because Sammy was close, so close to naked, bare almost everywhere.

Everywhere except what could be covered by the apron.

I.e.: not much.

The white ruffles along the bottom edge just barely hit Sammy's mid-thigh, and the bib portion was narrow enough that even if it had gone above Sammy's ribcage, his small, dark nipples still would have been showing on either side. Ruffles fanned out over Sammy's shoulders from the straps in two small, perfect waves, like the most satisfactory continuation of his tan lines: from brown to golden to pale skin and the crisp white apron.

The only other concessions to clothing were the ruffled headband, pushing back against his pre-spiked hair and making it _even cuter_ , a jumble of irrepressible points going in all directions behind the embroidered edges, and a feather duster, which might not have been intended as clothing at all, now that Aiba thought about it. He certainly appreciated it as an accessory.

"Where would you like me to start, Master?" Sammy asked. He cleared his throat, clearly unwilling or perhaps trained not to repeat himself, and waited while Aiba stared and stared.

"Right here is fine," Aiba said finally. "Everything is. Very dusty."

-

Aiba made conversation to keep himself from getting turned on too quickly. If it were a normal cleaning service, he wouldn't have bothered; he probably would have taken his laptop to the patio and listened to music while he pretended to research.

He was so thankful this wasn't a normal cleaning service. "Do you, do you like animals, Sammy-kun?"

Sammy hummed affirmatively, leaning up on his toes, stretching one arm out to reach the top of the bookshelf with the feather duster, the other holding onto the side for balance. His muscles stood out, lean and defined, all along his body, and Aiba got lost for a minute following the lines of his feet up to the side of his small, compact ass; his ass seemed like it would be the perfect size for Aiba's hands.

Aiba had noticed that Sammy was wearing what had to be the tiniest g-string underwear in the universe (with an equally tiny bow on the back, right above the cleft between his cheeks - small and satin like the kind teen girls had on their bras; Aiba still remembered those fondly from high school) but from this angle all he saw was skin until the apron, and to be honest, he was kind of glad for the flimsy bit of coverage: if Sammy had been standing there in just an apron, his slender wrist angled just so with the feather duster while his calf muscles stood out as if he had been perfectly proportioned for naked cleaning - Aiba's brain might have exploded.

As it was, it was still a struggle to keep the conversation going. He'd already forgotten what he'd asked Sammy, but then the TV switched back from commercials to dolphin pods. "I love animals," Aiba offered, not really paying attention to what he was saying as Sammy shifted down onto his heels to dust the middle shelves. "I work with them a lot, it's my job, you know, animals. Working with them, playing with them, making sure they're happy and healthy..."

Sammy crouched to reach the bottom shelf and Aiba trailed off. One of the ties for the apron had slipped in between Sammy's ass cheeks, taunting Aiba as it seemed to get wedged more firmly by Sammy's steady movements.

Sammy smoothly reached his free hand back and pulled it to the side.

Aiba wondered, _Does that happen often?_ and started out of his reverie when Sammy stood again, moving over to the TV stand.

"May I, Master?" Sammy said, and he slouched just a little, his shoulders rolling forward before he stopped and straightened up again. He didn't look right at Aiba but instead at the TV stand, then the floor, then Aiba's socked feet. His eyes were half-lidded in a charming, sleepy way that made Aiba want to scratch him behind his ears and pet him in ways that were complicated and more than just for the sensual thrill.

Aiba's initial attraction, based largely on Sammy's lean, lithe body and the not-inconsiderate appeal of said body in that apron, deepened at the idea of what Sammy must be like when he wasn't working: slouching, maybe napping his afternoons away or perhaps just staying up too late and in a constant state of appealing lethargy. What did he do that caused such pronounced tan lines? Where did he hang out when he wasn't at work?

Aiba wanted to know, and he wanted to know by more than just asking.

He realized he was staring, and coughed, embarrassed. "Um, yes, please. Uh, would you like something to drink? I'm going to get water. In the kitchen." He stood up from the sofa, hands twitching awkwardly at his sides. "I have juice, and soda, and beer, if you want something," he offered, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

Sammy looked up fast at the mention of beer. "Beer would be - I mean. Master. Um, I'm okay. Master."

"Right, of course," Aiba nodded, and left the room, letting himself glance back at Sammy where he dusted the TV stand, the contour of his spine neatly bisected by the bow, now slightly askew, the ties fluttering around his hips and ass as he worked.

Aiba looked where he was going just in time to avoid running into the wall.

-

In the kitchen, Aiba opened the refrigerator and promptly forgot what he was doing, lost in the thought of what it would be like to take Sammy over the couch, bending him over the arm and saying, "Let's make a mess," while he used one finger to pull aside that slim bit of thong cleaving the cheeks of Sammy's ass. Maybe he'd snap it first, see how the bow bounced against the dimples above Sammy's butt.

Would Sammy make some kind of noise? Would Sammy like it? Would he protest, in that cute way that maids do in some of the softer pornos Aiba's seen: _Oh no, Master, not here, I couldn't~_

Aiba thought he probably wouldn't; despite his get-up Sammy didn't really seem the type to come up with a line like that - but maybe he'd surprise Aiba! Or maybe he'd already be a mess by the time Aiba got that far.

Or maybe Aiba would just push Sammy against the shelves (now dust-free), get down on his knees, and mouth Sammy's cock through the apron and underwear until there was a wet spot from Aiba's saliva and Sammy's precum both. Then Aiba would flip the apron up and push that ridiculous banana hammock to the side and--

Or, or, or! What if Sammy made his way around the room and Aiba were just sitting there, innocently drinking his beer and watching his television program - what if Sammy got to him and put down his feather duster and said, "What about here, Master," and used those slender fingers of his to open the zipper of Aiba's pants? Maybe his voice would be sort of low and amused - he'd know Aiba was in on the joke, he'd be smiling, oh, Aiba wanted to see what he looked like, amused, knowing -

His nipples were hard and he wasn't sure if it was because he was turned on or because he was standing in front of the open refrigerator door. Beer! Right, beer. That's why he was in the kitchen.

-

"Here," Aiba said when he returned to the living room, two open bottles of beer in hand. He held out one to Sammy, and then set it on a coaster on the coffee table when Sammy just stared at him for a minute. "I mean, you don't have to - but it won't get you in trouble, I mean, not with me, I won't tell anyone. And if you want to, you should!" He forced a smile to soften the suggestion, but it turned genuine when he saw the way Sammy's eyes lingered on the bottle.

Aiba sat back down on the couch, and convinced himself to drink slowly and act like he was just watching the program again, like he could possibly be interested in anything but how Sammy's weight shifted from the balls of his feet to his heels as he started on the top of something and worked his way down. (What else could he do that with, Aiba wondered.)

It took Aiba a few minutes to realize that part of the reason that Sammy kept shifting was because he kept staring at the beer on the table while he worked. "Seriously," Aiba said, "I won't tell! You can have it!"

Sammy, less reluctant than he might have been if he hadn't just spent twenty minutes dusting Aiba's shelves of DVDs and sports memorabilia (and it really was dusty - Aiba hadn't been joking), took the bottle and stood there in his apron, holding the feather duster in one hand, his throat moving as he gulped. Aiba liked that he didn't start with a sip or pretend to be demure about it; Aiba made no pretense of not staring.

"You can sit down if you want," Aiba offered, when the rim of the bottle popped out from Sammy's mouth. Sammy's lips were shiny, with beer or saliva or maybe even sweat, though it wasn't _that_ warm in Aiba's apartment.

Sammy nodded in thanks and sat, his legs folded up neatly beneath him. He set the beer back down, adjusting it with his elegant hands so it was perfectly centered on the coaster. "Master keeps his house very clean, except for the dust," Sammy said.

"I cleaned before you got here," Aiba confessed, feeling simultaneously awkward and excited now that Sammy wasn't just - working.

From the way Sammy was sitting, it seemed like Sammy's nipple was winking at Aiba, half-hidden behind the apron strap and then visible again as Sammy straightened the magazines on the coffee table in a way that implied habit as opposed to dedication to his profession.

"I didn't know if you were actually going to clean," Aiba continued, "or - or just let me stare at you or something."

Sammy smiled then, almost shyly, his eyebrows lifting with humor when he looked up at Aiba - it was enough to distract from his nipples, which was saying a lot. "I didn't really know either," he said. "This is my first appointment."

"So we're both virgins!" Aiba giggled, feeling strangely relieved. "I mean, not _virgins_ , but, you know. I mean, I'm not a virgin but I'm not going to judge - are you a virgin?"

Sammy chuckled, then picked up his beer with his precise hands and took another gulp. "No," he said.

"Have you ever done it in cosplay before?" Aiba asked, leaning forward on the sofa, grinning perhaps a bit too widely. _Why_ , Aiba thought, _is the apron even more appealing when Sammy is just being so - guyish and sleepy-eyed in it?_ It was nice being called "Master" but it was better seeing Sammy's mouth curl up in amusement.

Sammy's eyebrows crinkled up in thought. "One time, as a school girl," he said, then gulped down the rest of his beer.

Aiba was torn between awe that he finished it in under three minutes and the happy thought of Sammy in a school girl uniform: how would it have compared to the apron?

(Well. It would have been more clothing than the apron, Aiba suspected.)

"What about," Aiba said, unconsciously gliding his fingertips through the cool condensation on the side of his bottle, "in an apron, specifically?" He probably failed at subtlety but he also didn't care.

Sammy took a moment to answer, looking up at Aiba and then down at the now-perfectly aligned magazine corners. Finally, he said, slowly, "I'm not, I mean. I'm not - are you coming on to me?"

He didn't sound like he hated the idea, Aiba thought. More like he was confused.

"Um, no. Yes?" Aiba said, a little flustered himself. "I mean, you're really hot, okay."

"I'm a cleaner," Sammy said, the wrinkle above his nose becoming even more pronounced with his distress.

"No, oh, oh, see, you see. We'd just," Aiba slid off the couch to crouch on the opposite side of the table from Sammy. "We'd just be...making a mess. And then you'd clean it up!"

Somehow, it had been much smoother in his head. He started giggling without really meaning to. "I'll, uh, I'll totally make it worth your time," he offered, tilting his chin up and leaning back against the couch seat, pretending he was in a magazine, making what he figured were the best ridiculous sexy-eyes he could make. He should go with his strengths, right? Ridiculous was one of his strengths, he was pretty sure.

Sammy stared for a minute, stared and then shook his head a little bit, like he was shaking himself out of a daze. His lips pouted out a bit in thought and he was just, agh, he was so cute. Aiba sat back up and said, "A kiss first, right? Just one - a trial!"

He reached over the table and the stacked magazines and tilted Sammy's chin up with two fingers, bending to follow closely behind his hand. Their first kiss was gentle, soft - but Aiba coaxed until Sammy opened his mouth, settling his elbows on the table-top.

They kissed like that for a few long minutes. Aiba's eyes closed when their tongues met, and he even forgot that Sammy was just in the apron until his hand slid down Sammy's neck and pushed the strap aside as it wandered. Aiba grinned against Sammy's mouth, half-hard and ready for so much more, feeling the way Sammy's smooth skin pebbled up in goosebumps against Aiba's beer-bottle-chilled hand.

He was vaguely aware of the television in the background, playing some kind of fried chicken commercial, and a distant beeping noise, like that of a -

"Ah," Sammy said, breaking the kiss. "That's. That's my alarm."

"What," Aiba said, opening his eyes slowly.

"I have to go." Sammy's eyes flicked from Aiba's mouth to his eyes and then back again, before he sat back on his heels. "Um, appointments are only an hour..."

"Oh," Aiba said, allowing himself to plop down on those stacked magazines, watching mournfully as Sammy stood and picked up his feather duster and went back down the hallway.

He was still there when Sammy emerged, once more in his coveralls. This time he also had a baseball cap, the brim angled to the side.

Sammy nodded at him, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thanks," he said.

"Thank you for your service," Aiba said, feeling strangely morose.

"I'll let myself out," Sammy said, shuffling towards the door and slouching a bit with the weight of the duffel bag.

Aiba watched him slip on his shoes and open the door, and then suddenly realized that he was literally watching a possible future slip out the door without even the faintest fanfare. He shot up and stumbled around the table, catching his door before it closed and calling down the hall, "Wait!"

He couldn't help the rush of pleasure when Sammy stopped and turned around to look back at him. He stepped out into the hall, still in his socks and not caring at all. "I, uh, I got your menu choice by accident," he admitted. "How do I request you specifically? I mean, if that's. Can I? Can I see you - can I request you again?"

Sammy's smile grew on his face like some kind of blossoming flower. "Yeah, that's. Do you have your phone?"

Aiba took it out of his pocket and handed it over, unable to talk above how many stars he could feel beaming from his heart.

Sammy programmed a number in and then passed it back. "Mail me sometime," he said. "Master," he added, his eyes crinkling up again.

"Right," Aiba breathed, watching Sammy until the elevator doors closed completely.

When he looked at his phone, the screen said _Ohno Satoshi the Maid ♥_. It was all Aiba could do to not leap for joy right then: a phone number! A phone number and a _name_!

He would _definitely_ be giving good reviews to "Sammy" in his customer survey.

(Even accidentally locking himself out of his apartment wasn't enough to dampen his happiness. Nino the building manager scowled even deeper at his smile and told Aiba to not bother explaining. "It will just be more of your ridiculousness, I'm sure," he said, but Aiba hugged him and invited him in for beer anyway.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It's a Game We Play](https://archiveofourown.org/works/323345) by [elfiepike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfiepike/pseuds/elfiepike)




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